


Don't Hurt If You Don't Know

by smoothsailing



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Grigor has a crush on Rafa, Grigor's POV, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Post Laver Cup celebration sex, set in Geneva 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoothsailing/pseuds/smoothsailing
Summary: They just won the Laver Cup for the third straight year, so he can do whatever the fuck he wants.  And what he wants right now is to track down Rafa.  He’s not fucking obsessed, thank you Sascha, he just wants to celebrate winning with his buddy, okay?  It’s not a big deal.





	Don't Hurt If You Don't Know

**Author's Note:**

> this is fiction bla bla bla it's set in 2019 so I made up a bunch of things, i.e. Team Europe winning again and the players on Team Europe.
> 
> Title from "Don't Hurt" by Essy

Grigor ignores the chirping from the peanut gallery and slips out the door, giving them the finger over his shoulder.  Okay, so not  _ignoring_  exactly but whatever.  They just won the Laver Cup for the third straight year, so he can do whatever the fuck he wants.  And what he wants right now is to track down Rafa.  He’s not fucking  _obsessed,_  thank you Sascha, he just wants to celebrate winning with his buddy, okay?  It’s not a big deal.

He’s pretty sure he heard Rafa mutter something about recovery right before he slid out from under Sascha’s arm and disappeared out the door.  Grigor just wants to make sure Rafa is doing ok, and not spending all his time on the stationary bike after having chugged almost an entire bottle of champagne.  Drunk Rafa is one of Grigor’s favourite Rafa’s.  Well, a _ll_  Rafa’s are Grigor’s favourites, but drunk Rafa is really great – loose, relaxed, kind of handsy.  And that’s another thing – better that Rafa is being handsy with a friend than someone else. 

The hallways are mostly deserted – players on Team World long gone and physios packed up alongside them.  Grigor frowns.  If the physios are gone, then Rafa is probably just fucking around in the recovery room on his own.  Grigor pauses in the hallway then nods to himself and heads towards there. It’s clearly going to be his job to make sure Rafa has a good time tonight.

He doesn’t yell for Rafa when he gets to the room – Rafa can be kind of jumpy if you startle him.  Instead, he pauses and listens, waiting for some indication that his instinct was right and Rafa is here.  There’s a thud and a scrape from somewhere inside the room.  Satisfied that he was right about where Rafa was, Grigor heads towards the noise.

The door is already open a little and Grigor stops, palm flat on the wood because that is definitely Rafa bent over a bench in Roger Federer’s UNIQLO polo and nothing else, holding his ass cheeks apart and that is definitely Roger on his knees with his face buried in Rafa’s ass.  Grigor hadn’t even noticed that Roger was missing from the celebrations.

Rafa’s thighs are trembling where he’s mostly balanced on his toes and he’s moaning around what looks like his own boxers, teeth sunk into the grey fabric stuffed in his mouth.  He’s up on his toes, calf muscles stretched where they’re spread to accommodate Roger’ shoulders.  Roger’ hands look  _huge_  where they’re cupping Rafa’s ass, thumbs pressed against Rafa’s fingers where he’s holding himself open for Roger to -

Grigor steps back and then steps back again, face burning.  That’s  _not_  what he was expecting from the evening.  He takes a few silent gulps of air, steadfastly ignoring the noises coming from the other side of the door and how hard his cock is in his sweats.  He needs to turn around and head back to the rest of the team, celebrate with the boys and pretend he never saw this.

Rafa moans, a long drawn out thing, and Grigor is back at the crack in the door, feet bypassing his brain entirely.  Roger looks like he’s trying to get his whole fucking face  _inside_  Rafa’s ass, prying his cheeks further apart, jaw working ferociously.  Grigor’s own hole twitches just watching the way Roger’s jaw moves.  Grigor clenches his ass and takes a breath.

It’s not that Rafa doesn’t deserve it.  He’s been a beast the entire weekend – if  _anyone_  deserves to be fucked so hard that he doesn’t know his own name, it’s Rafa. It’s just – Grigor lingers on the flush of Rafa’s cheeks and the stretch of his mouth around the fabric he’s biting down on and  _yeah_ , it’s just that Grigor would really have liked to be Roger in this scenario.

Roger pulls back, Grigor assumes so he can breathe, but it also makes the view better and now he can see the way Roger’ tongue is driving into Rafa’s hole, relentless and surprisingly deep.  They must have been at this a while for Rafa to be loose enough for Roger to get that much tongue inside him.  Grigor reaches down and squeezes his cock, biting his own tongue at the way it jerks against his palm.

He could probably come from this, just watching Roger’s tongue take Rafa apart until he’s – is he crying?  Grigor shuffles a little closer, squinting.  The angle is bad but then Rafa tosses his head and the glaring overhead light catches his cheekbones and yeah, Rafa is  _definitely_  crying.

Grigor should not be watching this.  Rafa and Roger are his teammates and, more importantly, his friends.  They would not be alright with Grigor seeing this, yet he doesn’t move.

Rafa makes a desperate sound, ass humping up into nothing when Roger pulls back and rocks up onto the balls of his feet, a heavy hand falling onto the base of Rafa’s back to keep him in place over the bench.

“Keep yourself spread,” Roger says,  _croaks_  really, and Rafa moans, tightening his grip on his own ass cheeks.  Grigor’s cock twitches, although he has no idea what it’s reacting to more: Rafa or Roger.

“Good,” Roger praises, stroking Rafa’s ass, over his hands and down to his balls.  “Best way to end this weekend – another trophy and your ass.”

Rafa makes a noise of protest but Roger shuts him up by grabbing two good handfuls and squeezing, pressing in close to rub himself against Rafa.  When he steps back, Grigor gets a glimpse of the bulge he’s hiding in his sweats.

Roger spends a little time telling Rafa about how great he’s been, detailing points he was particularly impressed by, all the while letting his hands trail all over Rafa’s ass, the back of his thighs, between his legs.  Grigor’s own hand has found its way inside his sweats and down to fist his own cock, throbbing insistently at the unintended show Rafa’s putting on.

When Roger starts fingering Rafa’s ass, slick fingers making an obscene noise in the quiet of the room, Grigor has to close his eyes shut tight and bite his lip hard to stop himself from making a noise and giving himself away.  Rafa is keening now, the sound muted through his makeshift gag but almost hotter because of it.  Roger doesn’t say much beyond a few quiet words of praise about the way Rafa arches his ass up or how pretty he takes Roger’ thumb alongside the two fingers already stretching him.  Grigor can see the way Rafa’s hole is getting loose under Roger’s attention, reddening up like it’s hot for it and  _oh shit_ , Grigor wants so badly to be the one to put his cock in Rafa’s ass.  He won’t get to be though, and that fucking  _sucks_.

“Sometimes I forget how pretty you are like this,” Roger says conversationally, right hand resting on Rafa’s ass while his left steadily thrusts and twists, lube-slick fingers shining obscenely under the light. “No idea how, but I do.”

Rafa makes a little punchy noise as Roger adds another finger and Grigor squeezes the base of his own cock, unwilling to come just yet, wanting to see where Roger is going to take them.

“When we get to Shanghai, you should come visit me. Come up to my hotel room, and bring your toy.  We could have a little fun, me, your toy and your pretty ass, hmm?”

Rafa sobs, straight out  _sobs_ , and Grigor wonders briefly if he should intervene but Roger leans down and kisses the back of Rafa’s neck, casual like he’s done it a bunch of times before, mutters, “yeah, you’d like that, huh? Fucking your toy for me? Getting yourself good and loose for my cock?”

Rafa nods hard, face sliding across the bench until Roger stills him with a simple press of fingertips to his cheekbone.

“In Shanghai,” he assures, voice almost gentle, “but for now, just my cock.”

Grigor can’t stop watching.  He’s a horrible creep and a terrible friend but right at this moment, hand fisted around his own cock, watching Roger Federer take Rafa apart piece by piece, the judgement of Bjorn Borg himself wouldn’t be enough to make him walk away.

Rafa’s hole flutters when Roger presses the head of his cock against it, looking for a breathless moment like it isn’t going to yield before it does, all at once, spreading easily to allow the thick head of Roger’ cock to press inside.  Grigor bites the side of his palm, jacking his own aching cock in a tight grip, imagining he’s the one thrusting slowly into Rafa’s welcoming hole.

Roger doesn’t fuck the way Grigor expects him to, fast and rough like Grigor’s hips want to.  Instead, he takes it slow, thrusting in steadily, watching his cock disappear inch by inch, the whole way, then reappear as he pulls back at the same steady pace.  It’s maddening.  Grigor wants to jerk off fast and frantic, but his body won’t let him, makes him follow the pace Roger sets.

Rafa’s whole body jerks every time Roger bottoms out, unable to go anywhere, trapped in between the bench he’s bent over and the hand Roger has splayed on his lower back.  He whimpers when Roger pulls back, all the way back until Rafa is held open on just the head of his cock, suspended there for long seconds before Roger starts pushing forward again.

Grigor is sweating, hair at the nape of his neck wet with it, shirt sticking to the skin at his shoulders and his ribs.  Rafa is sweating too, Grigor can see it gleaming on his skin, and it almost feels like they’re sharing a fuck.  It’s not  _exactly_  what Grigor wants, but he’ll take it.

This time, when Roger is pressed against Rafa as tight as he can be, he puts a hand in Rafa’s hair and tugs until Rafa arches his body up, forearms braced underneath him so he can hold the pose.  Roger coaxes the underwear gag out of Rafa’s mouth and Grigor immediately sees why Rafa needed it in the first place.

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh shit, oh,” Rafa babbles, throat a long elegant line that Grigor longs to  _bite_. “That’s right,” Roger says, hips working steadily and Rafa is just so  _loud_ , babbling and whining and dropping litanies of  _moans_ like he can’t control his mouth.

“Loud as you want,” Roger murmurs, stroking the column of Rafa’s throat with a finger, “everyone should know how good a reward you’re getting.  You were so amazing, Rafa.  Everyone should know you’re getting what you deserve.”

“Please Roger, please,” Rafa begs, voice wrecked, face wet, body jerking in time with Roger’ hips, “Do it, fuck me, oh fuck, come  _on_.”

Rafa doesn’t stop, just gets louder and more incoherent as Roger fucks into him and encourages him in a low, pleased voice and Grigor wants to cry because he wants to fuck Rafa and he wants Rafa to come and  _he_  wants to come so fucking bad.

Rafa  _wails_  when he comes, body jerking so hard that Roger has to let him go, let him collapse on the bench and scream into his forearms.  Grigor can’t see his cock jerking but he can see the way his hips are hunching like he’s coming so hard it hurts.

Roger’s fingers dig into Rafa’s ass and he speeds up, not by much, but significantly enough.  Rafa is flat out under Roger, body bouncing with the snap of Roger’s hips, mewling quietly like Grigor does when he’s oversensitive but doesn’t want to stop jerking it.

Grigor bites his forearm when he comes, slipping down the wall, knees shaking, whole body sweating with it, thick blurts of come streaking out of him, coating his fingers and the inside of his sweats, dripping down onto his balls.  He’s so busy trying to control his body, heart hammering in his chest, that he misses Roger coming entirely.

He doesn’t miss the way Roger stands between Rafa’s thighs, hands braced on his ass, heaving for breath for a minute before twisting two fingers back inside Rafa’s wet, fucked open hole, what is clearly his own come squeezing out around them.  Rafa shivers and keens and Grigor drags himself to his feet and staggers back the way he came.

**\---**

“Did Grigor find you then?” Sascha yells in Rafa’s ear, gesturing big in Grigor’s direction.  Grigor freezes where he’s watching David and Dominic chugging champagne and avoids looking in Rafa’s direction. “Went running after you like your knight in shining armour!” 

Sascha swoons dramatically and Rafa has to catch him, staggering sideways and careening them both into Bjorn, who looks decidedly unimpressed.  Rafa is laughing, shoulders loose and easy, distracted by Sascha being wasted, and Grigor figures he’s gotten away with it. 

He lets out a slow breath and sits back against the wall, just in time to make eye contact with Roger across the room.  There’s a minute-long standoff before Roger mutters something in Rafa’s ear, downs the last few mouthfuls of his glass and stands up, eyes never leaving Grigor.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i crave attention


End file.
